Mouse Is Confused! #amwriting

mouse is confused

More mouse tales can be found here.

I don’t know if my funny bone is back, but I’m not going to hit it to find out. Thanks for being patient. Virtual hugs at you all!

Mouse Is Confused!

I take advantage of the privacy of being small and surrounded by people to check my texts. There are several from Nick Ryder, informing me that the cavalry has arrived and to hang tight. Yeah, like what else am I going to do?

“I don’t trust her. Don’t have those people surround her,” says the woman Tom had been chatting up.

I hide my cell and try to look innocent as the circle of people around me breaks. The ones who saw what I was doing are evidently feeling a little kindlier toward me and hover.

Folding my arms across my chest, I wait.

AK-47 rolls in his eyes. “You’re so paranoid, Britt. Look at her. What could she do? She’s like a little mouse.”

I succumb to the grin. I can’t help it.

He raises an eyebrow. “Why are you smiling? What about this is funny?”

“I’m a mouse.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Why don’t you just share your demands with the negotiator and let us go?” I ask.

“Why don’t you—”

“It’s her,” Britt says.

“Her who?”

“That girl who went down the hole in the wall.”


“No, not a waiter. She’s with the agent over there.”

AK-47 studies me. He reaches out and removes the glasses.

Ah, suddenly I can see clearly. I can also see the recognition on AK-47’s face.

“This mission has been screwed from the beginning,” he says. He pushes my shoulder so I’m forced to take a step back. “I want to know how you knew we would be here tonight.”

I shake my head. “We didn’t.”

“I don’t believe that. Two agents…are there more?”

“Not in here.”

AK-47 sighs. “If you weren’t here for us, what is it? Coincidence?”

“No. We’re here to stop that guy,” I say pointing to the plump balding man who is, despite everything, nibbling on shrimp. He looks up when he realizes attention has been focused on him.

“Leave me out of this. I know nothing,” the paunchy balding man says.

“What’s he done?” AK-47 asks.

“Shut up, Mouse,” I hear Tom say. I glance toward him where he’s trying to stand. His face is battered and his dress shirt is mottled with blood. His, I’m afraid.

“I guess I’m not supposed to say anything,” I say.

“How in the hell did you get to be an agent?” AK-47 asks.

“Funny. I’ve been asking myself the same thing over the past twenty minutes.”

“And he called you Mouse.”

“Indeed.” I smirk.

AK-47 looks down at the red carpeted floor and shakes his head. He looks at me, pulls off the vest and hands it to Britt. “Find someone else to put this on.”

“Bad idea,” Britt says.

“I don’t care,” AK-47 says.

“Exactly,” Britt says.

This is as good as watching a tennis match, you know, should one involve the players tossing around an explosive vest.

AK-47 yanks me toward the doors. I stumble along unable to match his longer stride. As soon as he pulls the door open, he stands, looking around as if to assure himself that no one has noticed us. He seems satisfied, but I’ve already recognized some of our people. He pulls me along the corridor.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I’m escaping,” he says.

“What?” Well yes, I am astounded.

“This is a fiasco and I’m leaving.”

“What?” I do hate repeating myself. “But what about your friends? That vest?”

He grins. “The vest is filled with confetti. I am sorry to not see it explode. But there will be trouble and I can’t stay.”

“Of course.” I’m feeling numb and confused. “Whatever you say.”

“Maybe you can show me the sights.”

And things get a little crazier.


end 10/14/2017

Sascha Darlington

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